


Tied Together

by dracoqueen22



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Knotting, Light Spanking, M/M, Mentions of Egg-Type Mech Preg, Oral Sex, Pre-Overlord, Romance, Shower Sex, Sleeping While Knotted, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, cumflation, multiple overloads, valve eating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-18 14:44:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8165573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoqueen22/pseuds/dracoqueen22
Summary: With two shifts off in a row together, Drift and Rodimus spend the evening indulging in some of their favorite kinks.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a wonderful anonymous prompter.

“Come on. I want to show you something.”   
  
Drift fully expected Rodimus to tug him into the nearest private space, perhaps a supply closet, and proudly pressurize his spike, showing off some new modification or decoration he’d acquired. After all, it had happened before. Rodimus had a very pretty spike, and Drift did enjoy admiring it.   
  
But no, not this time it seemed. Instead, Rodimus tugged him two floors up and several doors down to the oil reservoir. Once inside, he keyed his command override into the panel, locking them in and most others out.   
  
“Uh, should I be concerned?” Drift asked as the door beeped an affirmative at them.   
  
Rodimus chuckled. “Only if you’re scared of me ravishing you,” he replied with a wink.   
  
Ah, so Drift was only half-right.   
  
He gamely followed as Rodimus strutted further into the reservoir and started pulling things out of his subspace. Some kind of tarp fluttered to the ground, soon joined by a box of energon candies and two decanters of a low-grade engex. It barely caused a charge, tasted awful, but still managed to feel oh so good as it went down.   
  
Rodimus planted his aft in the middle of the tarp and then patted the space next to him. “Join me?”   
  
“Is this romance?” Drift asked as he removed all three of his blades and set them aside before he joined Rodimus on the tarp.   
  
“Hey, I can be romantic,” Rodimus said indignantly. He grabbed the box of goodies and shoved them at Drift. “See? I got these just for you. I know they’re your favorite.”   
  
Drift fumbled the box, nearly spilling the contents all over his lap. Rodimus was indeed correct. These were his favorite, an assorted blend of sweet and sour flavors, that had no nutritional value, but the taste lingered in his mouth. They also had the added benefit of never-expiring, and giving one the sense of feeling full, without actually being full.   
  
“They are,” Drift murmured, and selected a few before tucking the rest in his subspace. “Thank you, Rodimus. That was very sweet.” He leaned over and pressed a kiss to Rodimus’ cheek, feeling the dermal metal heat beneath his lips.   
  
Rodimus squirmed and fumbled with the engex, handling Drift one of the bottles. “You’re welcome,” he said, and quickly chugged down half of his bottle as though he couldn’t bear the indignity of romanticism.   
  
He was utterly adorable sometimes.   
  
Drift grinned, accepted the bottle, and took a sip. He almost gagged at the overly sweet, syrupy liquid that coated his glossa and intake on the way down. Primus, this stuff was terrible. But it did sit nice and warm in his tanks, making him tingle all over.   
  
He leaned back on one hand and looked up. They could clearly see through the glass above them, at the stars lazily whooshing by. The Lost Light cruised along at what would be considered an amble for a ship this size. It was about the journey, not the destination, as Rodimus would say.   
  
Rodimus moved closer, squirming into Drift’s side. He, too, tilted his head, looking up at the stars. “It’s a good view,” he murmured.   
  
Drift made a sound of agreement. “If we weren’t moving, we could probably pick out constellations.”   
  
“Pfft. Do you even know where we are?”   
  
“Not a clue.”   
  
“Yeah. Me neither.” Rodimus made a vague gesture. “Somewhere out there. On the way. Following a map no one can really see and no one can really read.” He laughed. “What a ride.”   
  
Drift took another sip of the engex. It went down a little easier this time. “One of the best,” he murmured, and gave Rodimus a long look, bumping their shoulders together.   
  
Rodimus’ smile was soft and sweet, a peek at vulnerability he let very few see. Until he gathered himself and reapplied his mantle of confidence. “What about that engex, eh?” he asked with a wink. “Good stuff, right?”   
  
“Passable,” Drift said, and offered Rodimus a crooked grin. “It’ll do. I know better than to expect too much taste.”   
  
Rodimus squinted at him. “Is that an insult regarding my taste? Because I’ll have you know, I have impeccable taste.” He gestured to his frame. “Case in point.”   
  
“Flames went out of style ages ago, brat,” Drift retorted, but it was with a laugh as Rodimus pouted at him. “Or were you going for the retro look?”   
  
Bright blue optics narrowed at him. Rodimus’ armor clamped down, tensing. Drift had a moment to brace himself before Rodimus pounced, though he’d already known it was coming. He let himself be tackled to the floor, the tarp rustling beneath them, and laughed. He barely kept his grip on the engex as Rodimus pinned him down with hands on his shoulders, his aft firmly planted on Drift’s hips.   
  
“You’re so mean to me,” he pouted, his aft proving contrary as it gave a delighted wiggle. “And here I was trying to have a nice, wholesome evening.”   
  
Drift couldn’t help himself. He laughed. “Wholesome?” he repeated, the amusement bubbling up from his spark. “There is nothing about us, this crew, this quest that is wholesome, Roddy.”   
  
“Hmm. You may have a point.” Rodimus’ grip slid from Drift’s shoulders to brace on the floor to either side of Drift’s head. He leaned down until their nasal ridges brushed. “Guess that means we can go ahead and get a little kinky then.”   
  
Drift let go of the engex, ignoring the sound it made as it rolled across the floor. One hand wandered to Rodimus’ hip and aft, the other pressed against Rodimus’ lower backstrut.   
  
“Not too kinky, I hope,” he said, and grinned. “We are in public.”   
  
“The door’s locked,” Rodimus murmured and nuzzled his nasal ridge against Drift’s cheek before his lips barely brushed Drift’s. “The camera’s are somehow pointed in the wrong direction. We’re in the clear.”   
  
“Mm. Are we now?” Drift’s fingers tickled up Rodimus’ spinal strut, counting them one by one, until he found the base of Rodimus’ spoiler.   
  
Rodimus shivered. “I promise,” he said, against Drift’s lips. “So. Wanna play with me?”   
  
Drift chuckled again. Rodimus’ come ons were adorable, and rarely as enticing as he thought they were. But it was the effort that counted.   
  
“I think I can spare a few minutes,” Drift replied and reached up, capturing Rodimus’ mouth with his own, his glossa slipping past the seam of his captain’s lips.   
  
Rodimus purred into the kiss, shifting restlessly atop Drift. His aft swayed, pushing into Drift’s hold.   
  
“That’s good,” Rodimus murmured into the kiss. He shifted his weight, slipping out of Drift’s hold to adjust his position so that one knee nudged between Drift’s thighs. “But I know something that could be even better.”   
  
A shiver tingled down Drift’s spinal strut. His hands slid to Rodimus’ chassis, fingers cupping the curve of Rodimus’ side. “Sounds good to me,” he said, hips rocking upward, scraping his pelvic armor against Rodimus’ knee.   
  
“Mmm. Thought you might say that.” Rodimus leaned down and brushed their nasal ridges together. “I want to ‘face with you right here. That all right with you?”   
  
Drift groaned, his hips rolling again, small bursts of pleasure lighting behind his closed panels. He tilted his chin so that he could capture Rodimus’ mouth, letting that be his answer. Their lips locked, glossa meeting and tangling together. Rodimus tasted sweet, like the engex, but without the unpleasant aftertaste. His frame directed a burst of heat downward, which ghosted between Drift’s armor plates and caressed his cables.   
  
He shivered again and ground against Rodimus’ knee, his array blooming with warmth. Rodimus’ field stroked down over his, a long and steady pull that felt like the press of a large hand. He rolled his hips up, increasing the pressure of Rodimus’ knee, feeling as though it stroked his nub beneath the panel.   
  
Drift moaned into the kiss.   
  
“I like it when you sing for me,” Rodimus purred against Drift’s lips. His mouth wandered to the curve of Drift’s chin. He moved his knee, rubbing harder against Drift’s panel. “Gonna open for me?”   
  
Drift shuddered. He clutched at Rodimus’ back, sliding up to caress the bottom edge of Rodimus’ spoiler. Part of him wanted to open. The other part was painfully aware they were pretty much in public, no matter that Rodimus had locked the door.   
  
“Why don’t you try and make me?” Drift said.   
  
“Ooo. A challenge.” Rodimus worked his way back to Drift’s lips, his optics bright. “I accept.”   
  
Drift chuckled and teased Rodimus’ spoiler. He bucked up against Rodimus’ knee, the slide of metal on metal such a tease against his panel.   
  
“I wanna pin you down right here and frag you soft and sweet,” Rodimus murmured, nipping at Drift’s lips. “So slow you’ll be begging me to go faster.”   
  
A shiver raced over Drift’s armor. That sounded incredibly appealing.   
  
“I love how the starlight reflects on your armor, too,” Rodimus continued, leaving little kisses all over Drift’s face and forehead. “And I really love how your field goes all warm and soft when you’re hot.”   
  
Drift’s glossa flicked over his lips. “Are you trying to seduce me, Rodimus?”   
  
“Why? Is it working?” Rodimus ground down against him, ex-venting in several heated huffs.   
  
“Rodimus!”   
  
Drift froze, mortification swamping in to take place of the arousal. Rodimus, however, had a more extreme reaction.   
  
He jerked back from Drift, flailing in his shock. “Magnus!” he yelped, scrambling back, away from Drift, his armor flared in shock. “What are you – ah!”   
  
One foot slipped, and Rodimus tumbled backward, losing the battle with gravity only to slide right into the oil reservoir. He gasped as he scrabbled for something, anything, to keep from plunging over his head, and his hands latched on Drift’s ankles.   
  
“Help,” he bleated, oil splashing up all around him. He yanked, and Drift slid toward the edge, too.   
  
Drift flailed for a grip at something, anything, to prevent himself from joining Rodimus. The tarp wrinkled beneath him and seemed to make him all the more slippery.   
  
Drift spat a curse, flipped over to his front as fast as he could, fingers scrabbling uselessly over the polished floor. Rodimus splashed about behind him, getting more oil over Drift’s feet and ankles.   
  
He slid back one more foot, fully expecting to go plunging into the thick, oily depths, until a white and blue arm appeared in his field of vision. Thick fingers wrapped firmly around Drift’s own. Drift jerked to a halt, his shoulder wrenching in the process with a brief spark of pain.   
  
Ow.   
  
Ultra Magnus sighed and pulled, dragging Drift forward and in the process, rescuing Rodimus from the sticky grasp of the oil as well. He dropped Drift once Rodimus was free and stood over them, his arms crossed over his chest.   
  
Silence fell. All that broke it, for the moment, was the sound of Rodimus’ vents sputtering, and the bubbly rasp of his frame expelling the goop that managed to invade his frame before he could close his vents.   
  
Drift wriggled his ankle free of Rodimus’ grasp, grimacing as sticky oil seeped into the joint. He resisted the urge to glare at Rodimus, for it wasn’t entirely Rodimus fault. Just mostly. He sat on his aft and stared at Rodimus instead, who coughed to clear his vents as he crouched on hands and knees, a sticky mess.   
  
“So that happened,” Drift said, cycling several ventilations as the anxiety of the moment started to ebb.   
  
Rodimus made a miserable sound and looked down at himself. “I’m filthy,” he pouted, for indeed he was. All that had survived the oil was his head, intake, and a bit of his upper shoulders.   
  
“There is a reason one should not engage in adventurous activities near the uncovered oil reservoir,” Ultra Magnus said in a clipped tone.   
  
Rodimus dipped his head, color staining his cheeks. “Maybe if I hadn’t been startled, I wouldn’t have ended up in the oil,” he muttered, cutting a glance at Drift before immediately looking away. His plating clamped a little tighter, embarrassment leaking into his field.   
  
Ultra Magnus sighed. “You are the captain of this ship, Rodimus. I expect that you put forth a better example to your crew than this.” He rubbed at his forehead and pinched his nasal ridge. “Drift, you should not allow yourself to be caught up in his schemes either.”   
  
Drift didn’t know if he should be annoyed by the chastisement, or glad for once that he wasn’t being blamed for it.   
  
“Hey!” Indignation rushed into Rodimus’ field. “This was supposed to be a romantic moment, I’ll have you know.” He looked down at himself and sighed. “And now I’m dirty. Thanks for that.”   
  
Ultra Magnus lowered his hand and gave Rodimus a firm look. “Take your romance elsewhere,” he said.   
  
Drift dragged himself to his feet, and tried not to grimace as the oil gummed up his joints. He retrieved all three of his swords, strapping them back on, even as Rodimus stood as well, though his frame made weird noises as the oil caught in his seams.   
  
“Fine,” Rodimus said with a tilt of his chin. “I need a scrub anyway. So we’ll just go.” He bent over, giving Drift a nice view of his oil-coated aft, and snatched up the tarp and bottle of engex. “Come on, Drift. Let’s mosey.”   
  
He stalked past Ultra Magnus with all the dignity he could gather, which wasn’t much in Drift’s opinion. Hard to have any dignity when you were covered in oil, dripping it everywhere, and you dragged a tarp behind you.   
  
Drift exchanged a glance with Ultra Magnus, shrugged, and followed along after Rodimus. He suspected both of them would have reprimands in their files come morning – because yes, Ultra Magnus had no qualms about reprimanding his commanding officer, and Rodimus let him get away with it.   
  
“Let’s mosey?” Drift repeated as soon as they were clear of the door and Ultra Magnus’ accusing stare.   
  
Rodimus’ shoulders hunched. “I was flustered, okay?”   
  
Drift chuckled. “I think it’s adorable.” He put on a burst of speed to catch up to Rodimus so that they walked in step. “And the romantic interlude attempt was appreciated.”   
  
Rodimus looked at him and beamed, his optics brightening with delight. “It’s the thought that counts, right?”   
  
“Right.” Drift bumped shoulders with Rodimus, doing his best to ignore the sticky oil that then transferred to his own armor. “Now how about that rinse?”   
  
Rodimus hung a sharp right. “Coming right up!” he announced, and shoved his way into the nearest washrack.   
  
It was small, and barely stocked. It was rarely used given its distance from the training rooms and crew quarters. In fact, Drift had to wonder why it was all the way down here in the first place. It was very oddly placed.   
  
Rodimus dumped the tarp near the door, stowed the engex in a subspace pocket, and hit the dial for the nearest tap. Lukewarm solvent immediately splashed out, though it missed Rodimus by several feet.   
  
“Well?” he said as he planted his hands on his hips and adopted a pose he probably thought was enticing. “Aren’t you going to join me?”   
  
Drift grinned. “Barely lost a step, didn’t you?” he teased as he crossed the floor, and was immediately pulled into Rodimus’ arms.   
  
“Nope. I have a quick recovery time,” Rodimus replied and pulled him down into a kiss, venting heated air at Drift.   
  
Rodimus’ frame trembled, his field a dizzying mix of lust and joy and the tiniest wisps of embarrassment. His hands shook where they gripped Drift, fingers hooked in seams. That was the problem with racing frames. Get them a little revved up, and they had to go somewhere, or the gathered charge just circled endlessly inside them.   
  
“And a lot of static build up, I see,” Drift murmured. He curled one arm around Rodimus’ waist and turned them toward the spray of the solvent. His ankles had started to itch.   
  
“Duh.” Rodimus nibbled on his bottom lip, his optics bright and hungry. “Magnus interrupted something kinda important.”   
  
“Mmm.”   
  
Drift’s back hit the wall, leaving most of Rodimus in the spray, as Rodimus pressed against him. One knee nudged between Drift’s thighs again before Rodimus abandoned Drift’s mouth to nip and suck at Drift’s intake. He shivered, tilting his head back to give Rodimus easier access.   
  
“This is still public,” Drift said, though the steady pressure of Rodimus’ knee against his panel was enticing. The low-grade arousal returned with a vengeance, and his knees wobbled.   
  
“Pfft. No one ever comes here,” Rodimus retorted. One of his hands stroked down to Drift’s array, palm rubbing hard against the protective panel. “Where’s your sense of adventure, anyway?”   
  
“Probably the same place we left your dignity, floating there in the oil reservoir.”   
  
Rodimus looked up at him with narrowed optics, before he chuckled. “Okay, that was a good one. I’ll give you that.” He mouthed at the bottom of Drift’s chin, turning big, pleading optics up at Drift. “Come on though. I’m hot. I’m wet. I’m eager. Don’t you want to play with me?”   
  
Drift’s hand slid down to Rodimus’ aft, pulling his lover firmly against him. “I always want you,” he said honestly as Rodimus straddled his leg, the heat of his panel scrubbing against Drift’s armor. His knee was still firmly planted against Drift’s pelvic span.   
  
“Mmm, the things you say,” Rodimus purred.   
  
He kissed Drift again, slow and savoring this time. One hand remained on Drift’s waist, the other curled up and around Drift’s shoulder, giving him some leverage to grind his hips down on Drift’s thigh.   
  
“I can’t decide if I want to frag you or if I want you to frag me,” he admitted.   
  
Drift hummed in his intake. His fingers flexed on Rodimus’ aft, the other sliding around Rodimus’ frame so that he could tease the joints of Rodimus’ spoiler. Sticky oil clung to his fingertips, but it was nothing a good rinse wouldn’t clear. Besides, Rodimus shivering and pressing harder against him, engine revving and vibrating their frames, was worth the mess.   
  
“Or we could just do this,” Drift said against his lips, his glossa plunging into Rodimus’ mouth.   
  
Rodimus made a muffled sound and pressed harder against Drift, notching their frames together. “Mmm, this is good, too,” he murmured.   
  
Their frames rocked together, a slow and steady grind. Rodimus’ panel leaked on Drift’s thigh, the heated drips of his lubricant swept away by the trickles of solvent. Metal slid slickly together, thanks to the solvent, creating a delightful friction.   
  
There was something to be said for a nice, slow frot session. Drift purred as he rocked against Rodimus. Yet, all he could think about was extending his spike and rubbing it over Rodimus’ abdomen. He thought about painting the flame colored armor in his pre-fluid before pressing their spikes together.   
  
He thought about wrapping his fingers around both of their spikes, rubbing them together. The very idea sent a frisson of want up his spinal strut.   
  
Someone coughed their vents. It was not Rodimus, and it certainly was not Drift. Again, they froze, and this time, Rodimus didn’t react in a hilarious fashion.   
  
Drift peeled his mouth away from Rodimus’ and tilted a bit to the left, looking toward the door. Cyclonus stood framed in the opening, arms folded over his chestplate, his expression unreadable. But if Drift had to guess, it was a cross between irritation and embarrassment.   
  
“This is a public washrack,” he said tightly, in a tone that matched Ultra Magnus’, if Drift were to be perfectly honest.   
  
Rodimus groaned and thunked his forehead on Drift’s shoulder. “We have the worst luck.”   
  
“Well, that is what happens when you keep picking public places,” Drift retorted, and eased away from Rodimus, well aware of the current state of his plating. “Sorry, Cyclonus. We didn’t realize anyone actually used these washracks.”   
  
Cyclonus grunted a non-committal sound. He stepped out of the doorway, his plating twitching.   
  
“Yeah, sorry,” Rodimus said, though he didn’t sound sincere. He did duck his head sheepishly. “We’ll just be going now.” He made a beeline for the door, scuttling out of it as though his aft were on fire.   
  
“Do you want the tarp?” Drift called after him.   
  
“Leave it!” Rodimus’ voice floated in from the corridor.   
  
Drift shrugged and dipped his head in a brief bow to Cyclonus. “Excuse us,” he said, and hurried to join his partner, well aware that oil clung to his own frame in sticky batches and lubricant glittered on his thigh.   
  
Rodimus moved quickly and Drift had to hurry to catch up. Once he was in range, embarrassment pulsed thick in Rodimus’ field. His armor had clamped, too. He left oily footprints in his wake.   
  
“So,” Drift said as he caught up to Rodimus and bumped shoulders with him again, “Private quarters this time?”   
  
“Mine are bigger,” Rodimus replied with a crooked grin. “That’s the perks of being captain.”   
  
Sometimes, in moments like this, Drift forgot that Rodimus was technically his superior officer, captain of this ship, and captain of this quest.   
  
“I don’t even have a private ‘rack,” Drift said. He folded his arms over his chestplate. “That’s a little unfair, don’t you think?”   
  
Rodimus spun around and started to walk backward. “Well, there’s only so much space to go around, Drift. We have to be conservative. Besides… you know you’re welcome in my hab anytime.” He winked.   
  
“Oy. What mess did you two fall in?”   
  
Rodimus spun to the left as Drift turned to the right, both of them spying Whirl coming up an adjoining hallway, waving one spindly hand at them. He got close enough to loom, which wasn’t hard considering how much taller he was, his single optic moving from Rodimus to Drift and back again.   
  
“Why are ya so wet?”   
  
Rodimus’ face reddened. “None of your business,” he bit out.  
  
Whirl cocked his head like a bird’s. If he’d had a face, Drift was sure he’d be smirking. “Is that so?” he asked and his voice filled with glee as he looked at Drift. “Didn’t know yer tanks were that big, Drift. Good for you.”   
  
Drift went still. Rodimus’ outraged sound turned into a cough.   
  
“That wasn’t-- I didn’t-- It’s not--”   
  
Whirl barked a laugh and pushed between them, continuing down the hallway the way he was originally going. “Sure, sure. Whatever ya say.” He waved a pincer at them in parting. “See you losers later.”   
  
Drift honestly couldn’t come up with a single, coherent rebuttal.   
  
“He’s such an aft,” Rodimus muttered.   
  
“Well, he’s Whirl,” Drift said with a shrug. He threaded his arm through Rodimus’ and gave him a tug. “Come on. Let’s go. I’m starting to itch.”   
  
Rodimus did not protest. The rest of the short walk went by uninterrupted until they arrived at the captain’s door, the last hab on a hall of command staff.   
  
Rodimus keyed in his code, and the door slid open, admitting them. Drift started to move forward, until he realized Rodimus was not moving at all. Instead, he stood there, gnawing on his bottom lip, weight shifting from side to side.   
  
Why did he hesitate?   
  
Rodimus looked down at himself, frowned, and brushed in vain at the sticky mess clinging to his frame. Some still dripped messily to the floor.   
  
_Oh._   
  
Drift hissed a vent and rolled his optics. He should have guessed.   
  
He turned back toward Rodimus, moved around him, and scooped Rodimus up into his arms before Rodimus could do anything. The captain squawked and flailed around, adorably flustered.   
  
“Drift!”   
  
“What?” He toggled Rodimus in his arms, draping the red frame over his crooked elbows. “You didn’t want to make a mess, right?” He winked.   
  
“Yeah, but...” Rodimus chuckled. “I swear I forget how strong you are.”   
  
Drift laughed. “I do enjoy surprising you,” he said, and abruptly shifted Rodimus in his arms, slinging the captain over a shoulder instead.   
  
He slapped Rodimus’ aft, the ping of metal on metal echoing in the hallway. Rodimus wriggled atop his shoulder, giggling, his field pulsing with affection.   
  
Drift grinned and stepped into Rodimus’ hab-suite, one hand hitting the panel so that the door closed and locked behind him. He kept a grip on Rodimus’ aft – and what a fine aft it was – as he turned them toward Rodimus’ private ‘rack.   
  
“Mmm, I have a good view though,” Rodimus said, his voice a bit muffled. His hands landed on Drift’s lower back and then smoothed down, until they got a hold of Drift’s thigh tires and gave them a squeeze.   
  
Arousal tightened in Drift’s belly.   
  
“A very good view,” Rodimus purred. “Mm, maybe I want to frag you after all.” His hands patted a light rhythm against Drift’s aft. “From behind. So I can look at this.”   
  
Drift chuckled. “Whatever you want, hot shot.” He opened the washrack door and brought them inside, where he flipped Rodimus onto his feet.   
  
Rodimus wobbled dizzily for a second before he smiled brightly at Drift. “Private enough for you?” he asked, one hand planted on his hip, the other gesturing to the narrow rack around them.   
  
It was barely big enough for two. They squeezed in here well enough, and could probably fit a third person if they didn’t mind being close. Drift took a moment to pull off his blades and set them in a nook to the side. A little solvent wouldn’t hurt them, but he didn’t want them to get in the way.   
  
“It’ll do,” Drift said and stalked toward Rodimus, backing him toward a wall and the nearest sprayer. “Want some help getting clean?”   
  
“Why Drift, I thought you’d never ask,” Rodimus purred, raising his hands and turning a slow circle. “Where do you want to start?”   
  
Drift grabbed Rodimus’ hips in the middle of another spin and backed him fully against the wall, his spoiler chiming against the tile. “This’ll do,” he said.   
  
Rodimus chuckled and spread his hands. “I await your service.” One hand groped the wall, finding the panel to activate the sprayer and giving it a quick flick.   
  
“You’re ridiculous,” Drift said as he went in search of materials and came back with a couple of scrubbers and brushes. Fun aside, Rodimus really did have oil everywhere, and if they didn’t get it removed, Rodimus would feel it later.   
  
“Mmm. But you love me anyway.” Rodimus grinned and winked. Everything in his posture spoke of confidence and ego.   
  
It was only in reading his field, in looking close, that Drift could see his self-assurance for what it was.   
  
“Yes, I do,” Drift replied and tugged Rodimus under the spray, which instantly sloshed sudsy solvent over Rodimus’ frame. He handed one scrubber to Rodimus. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t expect you to help.”  
  
“Fair enough.” Rodimus twirled the brush in his fingers before attacking his other arm with it.   
  
Drift knelt and started at Rodimus’ feet, which was the worst of the mess truth be told. As the oil dripped down his frame, it gathered in his joints and gears and congealed into a sticky mass. At this rate, Rodimus might need a soak in a solvent bath – only that would ruin his paint.   
  
Drift wondered if Sunstreaker would be willing to lend them a hand. He’d heard of the golden warrior’s skill with a brush.   
  
Rodimus’ tires scrubbed easily. His pipes cleaned up well, too. The joints would need a better scrub later. Drift took greater care with Rodimus’ knees, but couldn’t resist flirting his fingers over the back of them.   
  
Rodimus giggled and swatted at him with the scrub-brush. “Stop that,” he said as solvent splattered on Drift’s shoulder.   
  
“Can I help that I find it endlessly endearing that you are ticklish,” Drift murmured, looking up at Rodimus. His fingers flirted over the back of Rodimus’ right knee, prompting the captain to twitch. “You’re adorable.”   
  
Rodimus’ bottom lip poked out. “I’m supposed to be sexy.”   
  
“That, too.” Drift shifted the ablutions to Rodimus’ thighs, though his fingers dipped into seams to tease the cables beneath. “Though less so when you’re covered in engine oil.”   
  
Rodimus groaned. “I’m never going to live that down, am I?”   
  
“Nope.” Drift rose to his full height and surveyed Rodimus’ front. Good enough. He lifted a hand and spun a finger. “Turn around so I can get your back.”   
  
Rodimus’ pout turned into a huge grin. “Make sure you get my aft,” he said with a little wiggle, though at least he obeyed. He leaned toward the wall, bracing his hands on it, which had the added effect of highlighting his aft.   
  
He did have a very nice aft. Drift couldn’t resist smacking it, solvent splashing up as he did so. Rodimus laughed and wriggled his aft again, tempting brat.  
  
“That didn’t even hurt,” he said.   
  
“It wasn’t meant to,” Drift replied, rolling his optics. He knelt again, attacking the back of Rodimus’ legs with the scrubber, though he was careful to avoid the backs of Rodimus’ knees. “Though Primus knows you could use a thorough spanking.”   
  
Rodimus’ aft wiggled. “I’ll have you know that I am the picture of good behavior.”   
  
“Pfft.” Drift snickered and rose higher on his knees.   
  
His scrubber made quick work of Rodimus’ thighs and hips before he let his hands cup Rodimus’ aft. They swept over the bright red plating and slid up, briefly grasping Rodimus’ hips.   
  
“You could use a little obedience training if you ask me,” Drift said.   
  
Rodimus half-twisted to look down at him. “You volunteering?”   
  
Drift’s grin was wry. “I think I’d have to get in line behind Ultra Magnus.”   
  
Rodimus outright laughed. “Oh, Primus. He’d leave me sore for weeks.” He paused, head tilting. “Although...”  
  
“No, Rodimus,” Drift said, cutting him off before he could even really consider it. “We’re not going to ask Ultra Magnus to bend you over his knee.”   
  
“I wasn’t going to say that!”   
  
“Yes, you were.” Drift stood, his hands lingering on Rodimus’ hips, as he pressed himself against Rodimus’ back. The solvent had gotten rid of most of the oil on his back and spoiler. “Admit it. You want one of Ultra Magnus’ big, broad hands slapping you on your aft. Or maybe….”   
  
He paused and moved one of his hands from Rodimus’ hip, instead slipping them between Rodimus’ thighs. “Maybe you want him here.” He reached for Rodimus’ panel, unsurprised to find it already open, eager to take his fingers. He rubbed two over Rodimus’ rim before letting a single digit slip into Rodimus’ opening. “Is that it, hotshot?”   
  
Rodimus moaned, his aft pushing toward Drift’s hand. A tremble raced over his frame, his spoiler twitching. His valve clutched at Drift’s finger, demanding he go deeper. So of course Drift obliged, pushing two fingers into Rodimus’ valve as deep as he could manage.   
  
“ _Drift_ ,” Rodimus panted. His hands kneaded at the wall.   
  
Drift leaned forward and caught the upper edge of Rodimus’ spoiler in his mouth, his denta dragging down the length of it. He curled his fingers, rubbing along the lining of Rodimus’ valve, the tips catching the raised bumps of Rodimus’ sensor nodes.   
  
Rodimus shuddered. He shifted his legs further out, widening his hips, opening himself to Drift’s touch. His valve clamped down hungrily, lubricant liberally slicking Drift’s fingers and dripping down.   
  
“Mmm, that must be it,” Drift purred against Rodimus’ spoiler. “You’ve been thinking about those big, thick fingers haven’t you? How many do you think would fill you up? Two? Three? Four to give you a nice, big stretch?” He shoved his fingers deep, grinding his palm against Rodimus’ rim, the heel of it rubbing over Rodimus’ caudal node.   
  
The captain moaned and clamped down tight on Drift’s fingers. He rattled straight into overload, hips pumping to drive Drift’s fingers deeper. His spoiler twitched, nearly smacking Drift in the face, until he leaned back at the last moment.   
  
Rodimus whimpered and tilted forward, resting his forehead against the wall of the washracks. His valve fluttered around Drift’s fingers, but when Drift made to withdrew, it clamped around him again. Heat wafted from Rodimus’ frame, all clear indications that he needed more.   
  
“That was one,” Drift said as he withdrew all but one of his fingers, letting the tip of his forefinger trace around Rodimus’ rim and flirt over his anterior node in a flick.  
  
Rodimus groaned. He turned his head, one blue optic peering brightly at Drift even as he pushed his aft back toward him. “Could use another,” he said with a lopsided grin.   
  
Drift chuckled. He shifted, sliding his free hand around Rodimus’ belly to rub over Rodimus’ spike panel.   
  
“Why am I not surprised?”   
  
“I have no idea,” Rodimus replied with a touch of false innocence. He wriggled his hips. “You know I don’t really want Ultra Magnus, right?”   
  
“I know.” Drift’s lubricant damp fingers traced the rim of Rodimus’ valve, caressing the plump metal mesh.   
  
Rodimus shivered, and his legs pushed a little further apart, opening himself up to Drift’s touches. “You keep doing that, you’re going to set me off again.”   
  
“Maybe that’s my plan.” Drift caressed Rodimus’ spike panel one last time before he shifted, reaching above Rodimus for the head of the sprayer.   
  
He’d noticed it was detachable a long time ago. Now was the perfect time to test it.   
  
“What are you doing?” Rodimus asked, his optics tracking Drift’s movements.   
  
Solvent spattered over Rodimus’ spoiler as Drift shifted his grip, twisting the sprayer to better direct the spray.   
  
Drift pressed his palm to Rodimus’ belly and aimed the spray lower, until it hit Rodimus’ lower back and then his aft. “Something I think you’ll like,” he said as the furthest edge of the spray hit the back of Rodimus’ valve rim. The spatter of solvent teased his caudal node, and it flickered brightly at Drift.   
  
Rodimus squeaked. His ventilations hitched. His optics brightened.   
  
“Oh. That’s...” He trailed off, another squeak escaping him as the spray ventured lower still, pattering against his valve rim. “Mmm.”   
  
“Lean down a bit more,” Drift urged, his free hand patting over Rodimus’ spike panel. It was a miracle Rodimus hadn’t yet popped it. “Don’t you want to feel that over your nodes?”   
  
Rodimus moaned. He sank down further, aft popping out, legs spreading. His hands braced on the wall, his forehead pressed to the back of them. His pretty valve came into view, biolights blinking fitfully, even through the wash of solvent.   
  
Drift’s mouth watered.   
  
Later, he told himself.   
  
He urged the spray closer, the intensity of it increasing, just as the first streams struck Rodimus’ anterior node. Rodimus’ thighs trembled, his hips swaying.   
  
“Frag,” he moaned, pushing back toward the spray.   
  
“Feel good?” Drift asked as he started moving the spray back and forth, just enough to simulate the lapping motion of a glossa.   
  
Rodimus panted through his mouth. “Don’t stop.” His spoiler flicked as a visible shudder raced across his frame. “For the love of Primus, don’t stop.”   
  
“I won’t,” Drift promised, and swept the spray closer, so that wonderful pressure landed right on Rodimus’ anterior nub.   
  
Rodimus’ hips danced. His knees wobbled. He made a low, desperate sound in his intake, pushing back toward the spray. His valve rim swelled, plump with arousal, his biolights flickering faster and faster.   
  
“When you’re done, I’ll take you against the wall,” Drift murmured as he leaned close, his lips inches from Rodimus’ audial. “You’ll be nice and wet for me, won’t you? Open and ready? I can slide right in and frag you until your vocalizer shorts out.”   
  
Rodimus whimpered. “Drift.”   
  
“Do you want that?” he asked as Rodimus’ field lashed at his, a roaring storm of heat and need.   
  
“Of course I do!” Rodimus mewled, backstrut arching, hands curling into claws.   
  
Drift’s mouth went dry before it abruptly watered. His spike throbbed knocking against his panel, threatening to burst through it. Rodimus was insanely sexy, and Drift could barely hold himself back from plunging into that pretty valve.   
  
Drift licked his lips and nipped at Rodimus’ audial. “Then overload for me, sweetspark.” The sprayer nudged so close it almost touched Rodimus’ array. “Make yourself wet.”   
  
Rodimus cried out something wordless. His head tossed back as he overloaded, knees immediately going weak. Drift’s arm around his abdomen was all that kept him upright as he bucked, vents roaring. Primus, but he was gorgeous in pleasure. His face flushed pink, his plating flared to release extra heat, and his biolights flickered madly.   
  
Drift hurriedly replaced the shower head before he spun Rodimus around, his spoiler hitting the wall. Rodimus moaned, his hands pawing at Drift’s chestplate.   
  
“Gonna… frag me now?” he panted.   
  
Drift’s answer was to grab Rodimus’ by the hips, and haul him up. His spike emerged in a slick pop, drawn unerringly to the dripping depths of Rodimus’ valve. He pressed Rodimus against the wall as he slid home in one smooth thrust, his spike instantly surrounded by squeezing heat. He braced his hands against the wall to either side of Rodimus’ torso, leaving Rodimus nowhere to go.   
  
Rodimus moaned, his legs clamping tight around Drift’s waist. He curled one arm over Drift’s shoulders, hand pressed to the back of Drift’s head. The other clutched onto Drift’s arm, fingers clinging tightly.   
  
“Frag me hard,” Rodimus demanded, his vents whirring faster and faster. “Make me feel it. Scratch my paint.”   
  
Drift shuddered and slammed Rodimus against the wall. The sound of wet metal impacting tile echoed around him as he worked his hips, thrusting into Rodimus again and again. His spike throbbed, sensor and receptor nodes exchanging charge. Rodimus’ valve rippled around him, still in the echoes of his overload, as though trying to draw him deep.   
  
Need clawed up Drift’s backstrut. Lightning radiated through his lines, charge racing in the aftermath. His fingers curled against the wall as he thrust Rodimus against it, Rodimus sliding up a few inches with every upward thrust of Drift’s hips.   
  
Rodimus clung to him, all heat and need, urging him on. “Come on, Drift, harder!”   
  
Drift snarled and buried his face in Rodimus’ intake, panting hotly over Rodimus’ cables. He worked his intake, trying not to give in to the urge to bite, but Rodimus smelled like heat and arousal, like all things delicious. It was hard to resist.   
  
Solvent streamed down over them, warm and slick, teasing where it slid into Drift’s joints and seams. He shivered, his lines throbbing with pleasure. Rodimus’ valve rippled around him, charge zapping into his sensor nodes, especially when he shoved deep and ground against Rodimus’ ceiling node.   
  
Rodimus loosed a cry of pleasure. His thighs tightened around Drift’s waist, his feet kicking the back of Drift’s thighs.   
  
“Nnn,” he moaned. “I’m… I’m close, Drift.”   
  
“So am I.” He panted, ex-venting heat, his mouth watering. He wanted to bite Rodimus, taste those cables with his glossa. Primus, did he want to.   
  
Rodimus’ hand trembled on the back of his head. He shoved Drift’s face against his intake and worked it, intake bobbing beneath Drift’s lips. “Do it,” he moaned.   
  
Drift growled. A rattle started in his shoulders and roared its way down to his core. His internals tightened. He bit at Rodimus’ intake, denta enclosing around a thick cable, even when charge nipped at his glossa.   
  
He slammed up into Rodimus, once, twice, and on the third thrust he overloaded, spurting hot and thick against Rodimus’ ceiling node. Pleasure rolled through him in static-filled waves, narrowing his senses to the hot clasp of Rodimus’ valve, and the life-beat in Rodimus’ cables.   
  
Rodimus gasped and his hold tightened to the point of creaking metal. He rolled his hips, again and again, as his valve rippled around Drift’s spike, overload taking him. He moaned so loud his vocalizer glitched with static. Charge erupted from beneath his armor and danced over his frame, hissing where it came in contact with the solvent.   
  
Drift purred and nuzzled his way to Rodimus’ mouth, capturing Rodimus’ lips for a kiss. It was a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss, where they more or less exchanged oral ventilations. Drift’s frame hitched and twitched, little jerks of lingering pleasure. He could still taste Rodimus’ intake on his lips.   
  
“That was a good one,” Rodimus murmured.   
  
Drift chuckled. “Glad you think so.” His lips brushed over Rodimus’ while his half-pressurized spike stayed nice and snug in Rodimus’ valve. It was a welcoming place to be.   
  
Rodimus’ legs loosened as though he intended to try and stand, only to more or less slide until they loosely pressed against Drift’s thighs.   
  
“Oo, you made my legs weak,” Rodimus said as he tightened his arm over Drift’s shoulder. His other fingers squeezed Drift’s arm tire.   
  
Drift chuckled. “Then I guess that means I did my job right.” He dragged his hands up and down Rodimus’ sides and nuzzled into Rodimus’ intake. “Want to move this to the berth then?”   
  
“I’m still wet,” Rodimus said.   
  
“Mmm, yes you are.” Drift slid one hand between Rodimus’ legs, fingers brushing past his half-pressurized spike, to the lightly pulsing anterior node, and further still, until they swept through the sticky mess between Rodimus’ thighs. “Very wet.”   
  
Rodimus shivered. “Drift,” he whined, hips canting toward him as though in offer. “You’re going to kill me.”   
  
“I don’t think it’s possible to die from interfacing,” Drift retorted, but he did withdraw his fingers. “Hold on.”   
  
“Hold on? What?”   
  
Drift didn’t bother to explain himself. He cupped his hands under Rodimus’ aft, forcing Rodimus to tighten his legs around his waist. He swiveled to knock an elbow against the solvent controls, shutting it off, before he turned toward the door, where motion sensors opened it before he had to fumble for the operating panel.   
  
Rodimus’ arms tightened around his neck. “You’re going to make my berth a mess.”   
  
Drift bounced Rodimus in his arms. “I’ll clean it later.” He purposefully didn’t look at the drips of solvent behind them.   
  
“You better. Oof!” Rodimus gasped as Drift tossed him onto the berth, though it barely counted as a toss.   
  
Drift grinned and climbed on after him, planting his hands to either side of Rodimus’ head as he straddled Rodimus’ thighs.   
  
“Where are you getting all of this energy?” Rodimus demanded. “Did I wake the beast or something?”   
  
Drift leaned down, pressed their nasal ridges together. “Or something,” he said with a laugh.   
  
He kissed Rodimus, humming into the kiss. Rodimus gamely returned it with little soft sounds, his frame thrumming beneath Drift, and radiating heat like a furnace. His hands found Drift’s head, caressing the long, pointed spars of it. They tingled, and a jolt of arousal went straight to Drift’s array.   
  
He ignored it for now.   
  
He brushed his lips over Rodimus’ before he drew away, scooting his way down Rodimus’ frame and leaving kisses in his wake. He shifted his weight so that his hands could sweep patterns over all of that red and gold armor, teasing into solvent-slick seams and caressing the charge-humming cables beneath.   
  
He paid special attention to Rodimus’ belly, to the gorgeous curve of his waist, the designed slats in his dorsa, the splash of color. Drift adored Rodimus’ abdomen, the sleek angled lines, the orange accents. The way it slanted toward his hips and widened toward his chestplate.   
  
Drift moaned as he pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses to Rodimus’ belly. He wanted rub his spike all over it, paint Rodimus’ armor in his transfluid, mark him forever. He knew Rodimus wouldn’t mind.   
  
The very idea made Drift’s engine rev. He kissed and nibbled at every seam until Rodimus gasped beneath him, squirming in an attempt to urge Drift onward.   
  
Rodimus groaned and fisted the berth cover. His backstrut arched, his thighs shifting restlessly beneath Drift’s weight. Drift heard a click a second before Rodimus’ panel popped, his spike jutting into the air. It demanded attention, and Drift reluctantly drew back from worshiping Rodimus’ abdomen to pay heed to the pretty unit demanding his attention.   
  
“Mmm.” Drift leaned back, one hand resting over Rodimus’ belly, while the other pinched the tip of Rodimus’ spike. “Knew you had a few more rounds left in you.”   
  
He scooted back so he could get his mouth on Rodimus’ spike. It was hard to ignore the call of all those delicate spirals of gold. Rodimus had such a pretty spike. Drift licked the head of it, gathering up several pearls of pre-fluid, before he drew the first third into his mouth and gave it a suck.   
  
Rodimus gasped, hips bucking upward, but Drift’s firm grip on them kept him from going too far. The berth covers rustled as Rodimus groaned.   
  
“You are such a tease,” he muttered.   
  
Drift chuckled around Rodimus’ spike and took him a little deeper, his glossa tracing the whorls of gold inlaid over grey dermal metal. Rodimus shuddered as charge crackled over his plating, evaporating what remained of the solvent dotting his frame. The scent of scorched cleanser briefly painted the air.   
  
Drift stroked fingers into Rodimus’ hips, where the more open joints left him vulnerable to cable-stroking. Rodimus’ spike throbbed on his glossa, demanding and insistent.   
  
Rodimus gasped, his backstrut arching. His hands reached down, pawing at Drift’s tires. His frame shook in Drift’s grasp.   
  
“Drift,” he moaned, fingers curled in Drift’s rims and tugging. “Get up here.”   
  
Drift let Rodimus slip from his mouth, but not without a parting kiss. The taste of Rodimus lingered on his lips, and he savored it, even as he obeyed, climbing back up Rodimus’ frame to indulge in a sweet kiss.   
  
Rodimus’ thighs pressed on his hips, trapping him in place. He pressed their faces together, lips peppering Drift’s face with kisses.   
  
“You know what I want?” Rodimus asked as his hips bucked, rubbing his damp valve all over Drift’s groin.   
  
Drift chuckled. “An overload?”   
  
Rodimus rolled his optics. “Well. Duh. But also...” He paused to roll his hips again, his thighs tightening around Drift’s hip. “You. In me.”   
  
Drift stroked a hand down Rodimus’ side, tickling into his hip seams. His fingers drifted back to Rodimus’ belly, giving the shifting armor plates a long caress. “I’ve done that. Twice.”   
  
“Yeah. But….” Rodimus trailed off again, and nibbled on his bottom lip. His field shivered. “You’re off tomorrow. I’m off tomorrow. Plenty of time to indulge, right?” He sounded hopeful.   
  
Drift cycled his optics. He tilted his head to the side, giving Rodimus an askance look. “You’re hinting at something I’m not getting, Roddy.”   
  
Rodimus rolled his optics and ground harder against Drift, his frame a wave of sinuous motion. “Knot me.”   
  
Oh.   
  
Drift’s internals tightened at the idea. It had been so long since he engaged his mod. It was such a rare kink and very few mechs enjoyed it. That Rodimus did still surprised Drift, but it was also time-consuming. It wasn’t something they could play with often.   
  
“Are you sure?” Drift asked.   
  
A shiver visibly raced across Rodimus’ armor. His vents blasted heat. “Frag yeah. Frag me hard. Frag me good. Fill me up.” His ankles crossed behind Drift, giving him better leverage to rut against Drift’s groin. “Please, Drift.”   
  
Drift’s spark throbbed. Rodimus begging undid him every time. He could never say no when Rodimus got that look in his optics, and that pleading pout on his lips.   
  
Drift leaned over Rodimus, capturing his lips. Rodimus moaned into the kiss, his mouth desperate, his hands clutching at Drift’s shoulders, his arms, anything he could reach. Need yawed in his field, like an ache which couldn’t be sated by anything but Drift’s spike.   
  
Primus Almighty but Rodimus undid him.   
  
Drift shifted his weight and his hold, his fingers sliding around Rodimus’ hips to tilt him for a better angle. His spike found Rodimus’ valve as though magnetically drawn, and slowly sank back into the hot, clenching depths.   
  
Rodimus’ backstrut arched. He tightened his grip on Drift, forcing Drift deeper. His valve fluttered with excitement, charge leaping from his nodes into Drift’s. Lubricant seeped from his valve, escaping around Drift’s spike.   
  
He must have been thinking about this for a while.   
  
“Tell me if I hurt you,” Drift murmured as he pressed his forehead to Rodimus’, his optics shuttering as he concentrated. He set up a slow and steady rhythm, the heat already gathering in the base of his backstrut. The neediness in Rodimus’ field seemed to draw out his own, making him as desperate for the pleasure as Rodimus was.   
  
“You won’t.”   
  
“Still.”   
  
“I promise.” Rodimus nuzzled against him, their lips brushing and sending electric zaps of need down Drift’s backstrut. “But you won’t,” Rodimus insisted with absolute surety.   
  
If only Drift believed in himself as much as Rodimus believed in him.   
  
“Faster,” Rodimus urged, his heelstruts digging into the backs of Drift’s thighs, bouncing against his tires.   
  
Drift obeyed and increased his pace, less grinding against Rodimus’ node as he was enjoying Rodimus’ valve. Enjoying the clasp of his calipers, the charge exchanging between their nodes. He’s already so wet and sloppy from Drift’s other overloads, and Drift knew what Rodimus looked for now. He knew what Rodimus was trying to ask for all along and couldn’t quite say.   
  
Drift fragged Rodimus harder, pinning him against the berth, taking Rodimus’ valve as though it belonged to him. Rodimus writhed beneath him, needful gasps and cries escaping his lips. Not words, but delicious noises that seemed to spur on some bestial side of Drift. He felt the need coil deep inside, nestling within his abdomen, pushing him toward overload.   
  
Drift panted and buried his face in Rodimus’ intake. His denta grazed over the sensitive cables, his glossa finding the bite mark he’d left earlier. Rodimus clawed at his back, fingers catching in transformation seams.   
  
Rodimus’ frame curved, more noises spilling from his lips, except there were words now, less static in Drift’s audials until they made sense.   
  
“Come on, Drift,” Rodimus chanted, over and over. “Come on, babe. Do it. Fill me up.”   
  
Drift heaved a fuzzy ventilation and slammed deep into Rodimus as he triggered the knot cycle. Overload rose and crested within him, rattling through his struts, his lines, charge zapping in the wake of it.  
  
There was no ignoring the waves of heat and need now. Not with the mod at the base of his spike starting to swell. He thrust deeply into Rodimus, little grinding pushes of his hips, the growing knot rubbing against Rodimus’ rim with every advance and retreat. Rodimus whimpered, his calipers cycling tighter.   
  
“Almost there,” Rodimus urged, his mouth open, panting for desperate ventilations, his spike leaving wet streaks on Drift’s belly. “Ohhh, I can feel you. So thick.”   
  
“Just… a little more,” Drift panted, his fingers kneading patterns in the berth as his spike base swelled and swelled until, with a little pop, his knot slipped into Rodimus’ valve and refused to slide free. Rodimus’ valve rim immediately contracted around the very base of Drift’s spike, trapping him inside.   
  
Drift felt it then, the oncoming rush, the tide of ecstasy. He shuttered his optics, clenched his fingers in the berth covers, and gave himself over to it. There was no stopping the overload now. It grabbed him, shook him, and claimed him.   
  
Pulse after pulse after pulse of transfluid jetted out of his spike and into Rodimus’ valve. His hips jerked with each pulse, the tiniest of thrusts, not that he had any room to retreat. He distantly heard Rodimus moan, felt the scrabble of Rodimus’ hands, and the splatter of transfluid against his belly. But all of it was secondary to the string of multiple small overloads as his array sought to empty his tank of every drop of transfluid.   
  
Rodimus’ voice echoed in his audials, the words a buzz of praise. His hands clutched at Drift, dragging him close, as if he couldn’t get enough.   
  
Drift covered him in kisses, little nips of his denta, feeling the pressure building in Rodimus’ valve, and around his spike. Spurt after spurt after spurt until finally, Rodimus’ ovoid tank spiraled open, greedily consuming the transfluid filling Rodimus’ valve.   
  
Rodimus tossed his head back, loosing a spiraling cry as he overloaded, his rippling valve only serving to pull the transfluid deeper. He writhed, squirming as much as he was capable on Drift’s spike, his hips jerking, his field a frenzy of desperate need. His fingers hooked on Drift’s seams, keeping him in place.   
  
Drift groaned, his hips jerking, twitching, pushing forward, multiple tiny overloads striking his neural net. The little bursts of pleasure were dizzying. Consuming. There was nothing but the ecstasy, the pulsing of his spike, the sensation of transfluid spilling from the tip, until the pressure increased again.   
  
He filled Rodimus’ ovoid tank, and his valve. He felt the pressure push at his spike head, and then heard the creak of Rodimus’ armor shifting. Protomesh stretched to accommodate, making room for the swell of Rodimus’ abdomen, and just like his modded spike, Drift’s modded transfluid tank meant there was still more to come.   
  
“Ohhh,” Rodimus moaned. His fingers curled tightly. “Primus, that’s good.” Another sound spilled from his vocalizer, a desperate whimper of need.   
  
More tiny overloads sent him gasping. His cooling fans sputtered as they worked furiously to dispel heat, abdominal cables aching where they contracted over and over again. His spark churned in his chamber, juttering at the locks.   
  
Drift’s last shred of conscious thought focused on keeping his chamber sealed, forcing the reaching spirals of his spark back behind the locks. They weren’t intending to kindle right now. That wasn’t the point.   
  
It didn’t matter that pressing his chestplate to Rodimus’ meant he could feel the churn of Rodimus’ spark as well. It pulsed and throbbed as though singing for Drift.   
  
He groaned and buried his face in Rodimus’ intake, nipping and sucking at the twitching cables. Rodimus wrapped his arms around Drift, pinning them together, his thighs trembling where they hooked around Drift’s waist.   
  
“Drift,” Rodimus whimpered.   
  
“Almost there,” he panted, fingers gripping the berth so tightly they ached. His vents came in sharp bursts, his legs trembling.   
  
Rodimus said something else, but it was lost to the static. One hand landed on the back of Drift’s head, all but shoving his face into Rodimus’ throat. He purred against Rodimus’ intake as the frantic jerking of his hips finally eased to a few intermittent attempts at rutting.   
  
Drift sagged as his systems reported his tank was empty. Rodimus trembled beneath him, heat pouring from his substructure, his other hand stroking down Drift’s back.   
  
“You okay?” Rodimus asked.   
  
Drift huffed a laugh. He forced himself upright and shifted his weight as much as he was capable. “I should be asking you that,” he said, as he looked down the length of Rodimus’ frame.   
  
Sure enough, his abdomen had swelled. There were gaps in his armor plates, the mesh of his protoform clearly visible. His once flat belly was now a small mound, stretched to accommodate his full ovoid tank. He looked as though he were about a third of the way through a carry.   
  
Only a third.   
  
Drift’s intake worked. If he’d had more transfluid, he could have filled Rodimus further, pushed the limits.   
  
His engine purred at the thought. His spike twitched. He freed a hand to curl it around the swell of Rodimus’ belly, feeling the heated armor and protomesh. Even like this, Rodimus was beautiful. If not more so.   
  
“Oh, I’m fine,” Rodimus said, sounding half-pleasure drunk. His fingers rubbed over Drift’s head. “I overloaded three times, or didn’t you notice?”   
  
Drift’s face heated. “I should have.”   
  
Rodimus chuckled and teased the tip of one of his finials. “Feels that good, huh?”   
  
“You could always get yours modded, too,” Drift replied as his hand slid over Rodimus’ belly, briefly brushing his fingers over the head of Rodimus’ spike, which had mostly retracted into the casing.   
  
“And take all the fun from you? Nah.” Rodimus wriggled, but only just, his valve rim twitching around Drift’s spike. “I kinda like it when you fill me up.”   
  
Drift’s lips dipped in a smile. “Yeah. I noticed.” His hand slid up, wandering back to the swell of Rodimus’ abdomen. He cupped the little mound, which was firm beneath his palm. It would have been firmer still if Rodimus were sparked and carrying.   
  
“You know if you ever get sparked up, you’ll be even bigger than this,” Drift murmured as he cupped the bulge in Rodimus’ abdomen. The thought of Rodimus carrying for him made his spark throb.   
  
Rodimus shivered. “I know.” He licked his lips, his field drowsy with pleasure and affection. “Wouldn’t mind someday. Far in the future maybe.”   
  
Drift looked up at him, startled. “You’d carry?”   
  
“For you? Yeah. Of course I would.”   
  
Drift stared at him, his hand still curved warm around the bulge at Rodimus’ mid-section. “But--”  
  
Rodimus’ thighs tightened around his waist, not that he could move much since they remained tied together. “Drift, I love you. All of you. Why wouldn’t I love any brat we might have, too?”   
  
Drift had no words. None. He swallowed over a lump in his intake, his optics sparking with heat.   
  
Words were useless anyway.   
  
He imagined an egg-heavy Rodimus walking around. He imagined the glow of happiness in Rodimus’ optics.   
  
But not just eggs. He imagined withdrawing from Rodimus and leaving a plug behind. Rodimus walking around with his belly mounded from Drift’s transfluid. Little trickles of it seeping around the plug, slicking his thighs. He imagined everyone knowing that it was Drift who had filled Rodimus so.   
  
Drift’s engine purred. His field throbbed with desire, and he desperately sought to rein it in before he reached the point of no return.   
  
He was so lucky to have Rodimus.   
  
He all but threw himself forward, curving a hand around Rodimus’ head so he could tug Rodimus toward him for a kiss. He pressed their mouths together, hot and hungry, affection so strong in his spark he thought it might explode.   
  
He’d never thought about sparklings, not about wanting them or not wanting them. He’d never really thought about the future because for most of his functioning, he’d just been fighting to exist.   
  
But just the idea of a future. The thought of a potential one. That it was there, if he wanted to reach out and take it.   
  
It was almost more than he could fathom.   
  
Rodimus’ arm curved around him, holding him close. He made soft, soothing sounds in his intake as he gentled the kiss. His other hand rested on Drift’s head, gently touching his finials, his audials, smoothing over the curve of his head.   
  
Drift breathed into the kiss. “I love you, too,” he said in between flittering presses of their lips. One hand pressed to Rodimus’ swollen belly, tracing the curve of it. “And, um, if you want to some day. In the future. I will. With you.”   
  
“Mmm.” Rodimus nuzzled him, his nasal ridge brushing over Drift’s cheek. “Far in the future, though. Can’t be laid up right now. We got things to do.”   
  
Drift chuckled. “Yes, we do.” He shifted his weight, and accidentally tugged on their arrays. He winced. “Sorry. That probably hurt. I should depressurize now.”   
  
“No.” Rodimus clamped around him, arms and legs both. “I mean, you don’t have to. We can just stay like this. If you want.”   
  
“It won’t be comfortable.”   
  
“Says you.” Rodimus brushed his lips over Drift’s, his field pulsing warmth against Drift’s. “I wanna feel you in me all night. That all right?”   
  
Drift worked his intake. “Yeah. Okay. I think I can do that.” The program had a time-limit anyway. It would disengage during recharge, depressurizing the knot. They’d come untied at some point during the night, so it wouldn’t harm their systems too much to tie for longer.   
  
“Good,” Rodimus purred. His legs unclamped from around Drift, slipping back to the berth, though he left Drift cradled between his thighs. “Lay with me? Or in me, I guess?” His smile was crooked, but adorable for all that.   
  
“Of course I will.”   
  
Drift offered Rodimus another brief kiss before he shifted, as carefully as he was possible, to find the most comfortable position. He ended up resting most of his weight on Rodimus, half-curled on his side with one of Rodimus’ legs thrown over his hip. He curled an arm around Rodimus’ torso, his head resting on Rodimus’ shoulder. The other hand drifted down, fingers curving around the swell of Rodimus’ abdomen.   
  
Rodimus shivered. Warmth cascaded through his plating, a soft whuff of heat that wasn’t arousal as much as it was satisfaction. “Mmm. This is good.”   
  
“You’re comfortable?”   
  
“Yep. Perfect.” Rodimus’ hand swept down Drift’s back, slow strokes that made him want to purr. “You?”   
  
“I’m fine.” Snuggled in the welcome embrace of Rodimus’ valve, with Rodimus warm beneath him? How else could he be but fine?   
  
Oh, sure. He might overheat in the middle of the night because Rodimus radiated heat like he had an internal furnace. But it would be worth it.   
  
“Recharge now?” Drift murmured. He was exhausted. Knotting always drained more than his transfluid out of him.   
  
Rodimus’ other arm wrapped around his chassis. It felt like comfort and protection both. “Definitely.”   
  
“We made a mess.”   
  
“Eh. We’ll get it later.” Rodimus chuckled. “Besides, there’s going to be an even bigger mess when you depressurize later.”   
  
Drift nuzzled into Rodimus’ shoulder. “Mmm. I’ll clean it for you.”   
  
“With your mouth?” A tiny shiver echoed in Rodimus’ ventilations.   
  
“If you want.”   
  
“Nnnn. I want.” There was the tiniest of shifts in the pressure of Rodimus’ valve around Drift’s spike.   
  
Drift patted his belly and made shushing motions. “Don’t go getting started again. Recharge now.” He didn’t have the energy for another round. Sometimes, Rodimus had a mysterious power that seemed to power his interfacing drive.   
  
“Yes, sir.”   
  
Brat. Drift worked his hand up beneath Rodimus’ frame and managed to pinch the bottom edge of Rodimus’ spoiler. His captain hissed a vent, but there was nothing of pain in his field.   
  
Rodimus’ hand stroked down Drift’s backstrut, giving him a pat at the base of it. He turned his head, cheek rubbing against Drift’s crest.   
  
“Good night,” he murmured.   
  
Drift gave him a little squeeze. “Thank you, by the way. Tonight was nice.”   
  
Rodimus breathed a laugh. “Anytime, my knight. Anytime.” He pressed his cheek against Drift’s head, the warmth of him like a declaration of love. One that cradled Drift as he slowly sank into the embrace of recharge, wrapped within and around Rodimus.   
  


~

  
Drift jerked online as the insistent ping on his comm became something he could no longer ignore. Thoughts muzzy, he blinked, trying to remember where he was.   
  
Overheating for one thing. Gah.   
  
Drift stirred and realized he was half-buried beneath Rodimus’ weight, with Rodimus’ face tucked into his intake. They’d shifted throughout the night, with Drift rolling and pulling Rodimus half on top of him. There was a sticky mess between them, and yes, at some point his spike had depressurized just enough that he and Rodimus were no longer tied. His spike lingered in Rodimus’ valve, however, just enough of a presence that Rodimus hadn’t flooded the berth.   
  
Well, that was a mess waiting to happen.   
  
His comm pinged again, with a message from Ultra Magnus. Drift tried to force himself into awareness as he answered the ping.   
  
“Is it an emergency?” he asked as Rodimus jerked online, twitching in Drift’s arms.   
  
“Huh? Whossit? Whassgoingon?” he mumbled, one hand patting at Drift’s chestplate in confusion. “What? Magnus?”   
  
“ _No, it is not_ ,” Ultra Magnus replied, and judging from Rodimus’ reaction, he received the same message as well. Magnus must have put them on a conference call. “ _However, this is a matter of utmost importance_.”   
  
Rodimus whined low in his intake. “ _Magnus, we were recharging_.”   
  
“ _Then you can take your afts out of the berth and clean up the mess you left behind_ ,” the second-in-command said frostily. “ _You left a trail of oil all around the ship, Rodimus. That is inexcusable behavior for a captain!_ ”   
  
Oh, Primus. They had, hadn’t they?   
  
Drift’s faceplate heated. Ultra Magnus had a point. They were supposed to be examples of proper behavior. Not utter miscreants.   
  
“ _Magnus, we have cleaning drones. Just activate a few of them_ ,” Rodimus replied and buried his face back into Drift’s intake. His hand, however, slid from Drift’s waist down to his pelvic array, tickling over the thinner armor there.   
  
“ _Absolutely not. You made the mess, Rodimus, and I expect for you to mop it up_.”   
  
The comm went dead.   
  
Drift blinked. “Can he actually order you to do that?”   
  
Rodimus’ hand drifted lower, flirting over where their arrays were still joined. “He can try.” He licked at Drift’s intake cables, provoking a shiver.  
  
“Mmm.” Drift’s hips canted forward, inviting Rodimus’ exploratory fingers. “He has a point though. We should clean up after ourselves. Set a good example.”   
  
“You’re such an aft-kisser,” Rodimus said with a laugh. “But all right.” He rolled his hips, valve flexing around Drift’s rapidly reawakening spike. “You made me a promise last night though. Something about helping me get clean.”   
  
“Mm. I remember that now.” Drift grabbed Rodimus’ hip, holding Rodimus against him. “You’re not hurting?”   
  
“Not one bit.” Rodimus tightened his thighs against Drift and rolled back to his back, flicking his spoiler to get comfortable as he did so. “Oh, wow. I’m still full.” One hand slid down to his belly, to the mound of his abdominal plating. “Feels weird.”   
  
“Bad weird?”   
  
Rodimus looked up at him, optics bright, and licked his lips. “Good weird,” he purred. His free hand curled around the back of Drift’s head, tugging him so that their foreheads came into contact. “It’s kinda getting me hot.” He rubbed at his belly, his ventilations quickening. “Still wanna eat me out?”   
  
Drift braced his hands on the berth to either side of Rodimus’ head. “I think we have enough time for that.” He brushed a kiss over Rodimus’ lips before he pushed himself upright, looking down at where their frames were joined.   
  
Rodimus’ valve was stretched around his spike, swollen and biolights flickering fitfully. A mix of lubricant and transfluid seeped out around Drift’s spike. Even as Drift looked, Rodimus spread his thighs wider, giving him an unencumbered look.   
  
“You’re gorgeous,” Drift murmured as he brushed a finger over Rodimus’ anterior node, watching as Rodimus arched his back with pleasure.   
  
“So are you.” Rodimus licked his lips.   
  
Well, that was debatable. But now wasn’t the time to argue.   
  
Drift rubbed his thumb over Rodimus’ node again. “Ready?”   
  
“More than.”   
  
Drift grinned and held Rodimus’ hips carefully. He slowly sat back on his heels, withdrawing his spike as he did so. More fluids seeped around his retreating spike until the head popped free. There was a moment before the dribble became a steady trickle, a generous outward flow of intermingled fluids.   
  
Rodimus moaned, his hips bucking in Drift’s hold. One hand rubbed on his belly and the other reached down, the heel grinding against his anterior node. His field flushed with pleasure as he gnawed on his bottom lip, head tossing back.   
  
Drift’s mouth went dry.   
  
Rodimus, in the embrace of pleasure, was intoxicating.   
  
Drift moved so fast he almost didn’t remember making the conscious decision to do so. He dropped to his belly, hooked his hands under Rodimus’ thighs, and tugged Rodimus toward his mouth. He nipped at Rodimus’ fingers, chasing them away, so that he could latch lips and denta onto Rodimus’ anterior cluster.   
  
Rodimus shouted, his thighs clamping around Drift’s shoulders. His engine roared as he bucked against Drift’s mouth. More fluids spilled from his valve as calipers cycled restlessly, forcing out the mess.   
  
But it was nothing compared to the way Rodimus shook, to the way he rode Drift’s lips and glossa. He moaned, babbling words of praise, his hand clutching at Drift’s head as his node pulsed on Drift’s lips.   
  
“Oh, frag. That’s it. Oh, Drift. That’s perfect,” Rodimus babbled, his hips rocking faster and faster, his fingers kneading a pattern on Drift’s head. “Come on, baby. I’m already close. Keep going. Frag that’s so hot. Frag.”   
  
Drift’s spike repressurized in a snap. He ground his hips against the berth, rutting the head of his spike into the covers. The friction was absolutely perfect when all he needed was Rodimus singing his pleasure so sweetly. The scent of their mixed overloads, the scent of Rodimus, surrounded him. It was in his nasal sensors and on his glossa.   
  
Drift moaned against Rodimus’ array, heat dancing down his spinal strut in sharp bursts. He ground harder against the berth, and his hands tightened on Rodimus’ thighs. He buried his face against Rodimus’ valve, licking him open, lapping up the mess. He suckled on Rodimus’ swollen nub, and gave it a nip.   
  
Rodimus arched. “Drift!” he shouted, and his thighs moved in, clamping around Drift’s head. He overloaded with a jerk, riding Drift’s face in sharp rocks of his hips, his valve pushing out another gush of fluids.   
  
Drift nuzzled him through the overload, easing his licks on Rodimus’ nub until the snaps of charge dissipated from around Rodimus’ valve. Hands pawed at his head, his shoulders. Rodimus’ thighs parted, and muzzily, Drift let Rodimus pull him up, pull their mouths together.   
  
Drift moaned into the desperate kiss, his hips jerking of their own accord, thrusting without aim against Rodimus’ array. The head of his spike slid in the mess of fluids, thrust against Rodimus’ valve, his thigh, and then he moaned when Rodimus’ fingers curled around his length.   
  
Overload tightened in his belly like a knot. One that abruptly shattered and released as Rodimus gave him a stroke and a squeeze. A weak spatter of transfluid squeezed from his spike, striping Rodimus’ thigh. The rest of his overload came in dry bursts, his hips thrusting, but his tanks yet dry.   
  
Drift panted against Rodimus’ mouth, tingles zipping all throughout his haptic net. Rodimus’ hold on his spike gentled, better a caress than a stroke, and that drew out the pleasure, like sinking into a warm bath.   
  
Best wake up call, Ultra Magnus disapproval notwithstanding.   
  
“Somehow, I think that just got me messier,” Rodimus panted, tucking his face into Drift’s intake.   
  
Drift outright laughed.  
  
He felt Rodimus’ smile against his intake cables. “That’s what the washracks are for, right?”   
  
Drift patted him on the aft, resisting the urge to give it a squeeze. “Right.”   
  
Eventually, they’d remember they were supposed to go clean up their mess. Or if they didn’t, Drift was sure Ultra Magnus would send them a sharp reminder.   
  
For now. They were both technically off-shift. They had the rest of the day to enjoy each other if they wanted.   
  
Again and again and again.   
  
Frankly, Drift wouldn’t want it any other way.


End file.
